Legion sat quietly as soon as they reached the top of the well. Perhaps for the first time now, he found himself glad that climatization to the magic in this ‘Dragon Empire’ spared him having to breathe in the foul air and the stench of their clothes. Puki, who never ceased to remind him of this oddity, might even be jealous about now. This amused Legion.
But it was fleeting; for the mention of this “Flesh Tailor” bothered Legion… was this Garados? Surely not; how could he have arrived so much earlier to be known already throughout the dungeon.
Sighing… Legion turned his mind to the distant past; remembering so many years ago when he himself was…. different. Lost for months (or was it years!?) in solitude, pursuing that which he was convinced would finally rid him of Blackcross’. Perhaps this Flesh Tailor was also a single-minded individual, so consumed by his ‘art’ that he is scarcely aware of his surroundings? What a thought.
Legion closed his eyes now, hard… and tried to conjure again the image he saw first in his vision, and again in his waking nightmare. The shard… the bane of his existence and perhaps the only thing that can save him…. glowing amidst the massive treasure hoard… but it was no use. He could not ‘feel’ it. Was it down here? Swallowed by this bizarre stone thief monstrosity?
Then the orcs… those huge, brutal, hulking beasts different from those in the realms, or even in the Flannaess… could those be what these goblin runts were referring to?
Legion stood… his minion slowly circling… it’s eyes on him… on everyone… silent.